


undress me (and lighten my burden)

by awfulbutsexy



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awfulbutsexy/pseuds/awfulbutsexy
Summary: an alternate ending to ch. 15 of "mayday, mayday"
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	undress me (and lighten my burden)

When she awoke a while later, it was dark and Joan struggled to place where she was. The last few days had been tough on her, a rude interruption for a mind that thrived on schedule and routine. But then she remembered. Felt the sway of the ship under her, smelt the foul salt of the air and the gasoline fumes - and she came back to herself, curled up in a patch of purple shadows in the dimly lit cabin.

She wasn’t alone. Found she rarely was these days. The Joker sat across the room, facing her in the desk chair. His hands were busy with something and he was muttering to himself as he worked in the poor light provided by a nearby ancient-looking hand lamp. It took her a minute to figure out what he was holding. The realization sent her flying upright and she narrowly avoided smacking her head a second time as she swung her legs out from the bunk.

He had her gun. And he was cleaning it. She watched him, momentarily distracted from her mounting panic by the skill and efficiency with which he worked. He had his tools laid out on the floor, a few slender metal trinkets, a dirty rag, and a little tube of something that looked like super glue. There was something almost militarized in his movements. She thought back, briefly, to all those days she’d spent “training” with the gun in her apartment and felt foolish.

As though he could hear the uneasy noise in her head, he paused and set the gun on the ledge of his thigh. “This thing is filthy,” he muttered and rubbed once, hard, at the end of his nose, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to clean your piece?”

The question was so absurd she almost laughed. Instead, she got unsteadily to her feet, taking silent inventory. Her body was sore from having slept so tightly coiled for so long and there was definitely a knot on the back of her head, but her mouth had stopped bleeding so she supposed she was alright. It was only when she stood up that she spotted the fast food bags on the desk. The smell of grease - and her hunger - hit her all at once. She was across the room, tearing into a soiled yellow bag and unwrapping a cheeseburger before she could stop herself.

Beside her, the Joker chuckled. “Sure, help yourself, Joanie.”

She did just that, dryly swallowing a few mouthfuls of meat and bread before glancing sideways at him. He looked tired, more run-down, more _human_ , than she’d ever seen him. She noted that the bruises along his chest and arms had gotten worse. He had never told her precisely what had happened to him, but she figured he had probably not been meant to survive it.

“You really ought to get properly looked at” she murmured, between chews, making sure to eat around the bit of bun that had gotten soggy and cold.

He scoffed, stooping to pick up what looked like a long metal pipe cleaner from the floor before shoving it fiercely into the barrel of the gun. “Isn’t that what _you’re_ here for?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, by a _real_ doctor. Those bruises look bad.”

“That your professional opinion, doc?”

It was quiet for a beat. It felt silly to nag him, so she finished off her burger instead, even pecked at a few fries that didn’t taste too strongly of wet cardboard. He went back to his furious scrubbing.

“You gonna give that back to me when you’re done?” She knew it was a halfway stupid question. Felt like it was setting her up for a metaphorical kick in the ribs. But she had to ask, had to know if she would have to fight him for it after all.

“I don’t know, Joanie, you gonna behave?”

“How about I earn it back?”

That got his attention. He turned slightly in his seat to look up at her, his face splitting in a salacious grin. “Up for round two already?”

The words plucked at something in her stomach, ringing with a familiar feeling. A memory maybe, already clouded over with grime. _Like something Sasha would say_. Her stomach rolled over at the thought, her appetite gone at once. She decided to change the subject.

“Let me wash the glass out of your hair. Get the blood out at least.”

The offer sounded silly, almost sentimental as it hung in the silence between them. She was ready to take it back when the Joker suddenly got to his feet, bumping the desk chair back with a screech. He stepped nimbly over his scattered tools toward her and she nervously watched the gun in his hand, relaxing only when she heard of the click of the safety. He set it on the table between them and Joan had to stifle the urge to grab for it.

“After you, doc.” He growled, tipping his head toward the bathroom. She swallowed her nerves and led the way.

The room was already small and in any other circumstance, she might have found it amusing to watch the Joker nearly fold himself in half to fit his head under the faucet. But she knew better than to laugh now.

The air between them was charged after their last argument, the tension dissolving into something less potent but still somehow dangerous. Things had changed, shifted. And whatever edge she’d gotten on him, whatever ground she’d gained, she had lost, landing her back at square one. He’d said she could have the gun back if she could play along. So play along she would.

The angle was awkward and the water shockingly cold, but she managed as best she could, partly relieved to find the wound on the back of his head was not as bad as she imagined; it was already starting to clot. Still, she was gentle as she picked shards of glass from the tender meat of his scalp. If she was hurting him she couldn’t tell. He had gotten quiet again. Except for his labored breathing.

She tried not to think about how intimate this was. Like something she would do for a lover or a child. So instead, she let her mind wander, out of the room, back into the hull of the tanker. “That money...it belongs to the mob doesn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“I remember the robberies. And watching you on the news.” She paused to add another piece of glass to her collection on the edge of the sink. “Why’d you steal it?”

“ _Why_?” His voice sounded strange, warped by the basin of the sink. He stepped back suddenly, knocking her hands out of the way, and straightened up. He shook his head once like a dog and she flinched when a spray of cold water caught her across the face. “You like that question. You ask it a lot - like the answer is going to make any difference.”

“It might.”

“But it won’t,” he muttered. The water had rinsed away the residual makeup from his face and she watched as he toweled the rest of it off with his shirt. “And you’re out of moves, Joanie. So don’t try and pick my brain, because I don’t like it. And I’m all you’ve got.”

He was telling her precisely what she feared, what she so badly didn’t want to be true. She could feel him starting to launch into one of his diatribes and she was tired of him already. But he was blocking the door. “Oh goodie,” she hissed and moved as if to leave the bathroom. She wanted her gun, wouldn't feel right until it was wrapped in her palm. 

But he was faster. He pressed her back against the sink and she yelped as she felt the faucet digging into her spine. She knew by now that he didn’t like to be interrupted when he was talking like this, considered it _disrespectful_ , but she couldn’t help herself. She wondered how many times he would have to hurt her for her to hold her tongue. She closed her eyes, tried to shut him out, tried to pull herself away from him, and she felt his fingers tighten around her throat in warning.

“I know that you think that if you can figure out my plan, you can outplay me. But you won’t. And you can’t. Because there is no plan. And there is no _why_.” He spat out the last word like a curse and shook her once for good measure. She winced as her head knocked back against the mirror and only then did she open her eyes.

He was staring at her, waiting, patient as a predator. Maybe waiting for her to cry, to pledge watery allegiance to his backwards bullshit, and admit that he was right, that he had her all figured out. That she needed him, as much as he had once needed her.

Her mind flashed back to the scene in her bedroom, hours earlier, to his hand on her throat, his mouth so close to hers. She’d responded the only way she knew how, in a language she knew he would understand. The bite on his hand was still shiny with blood, warm and swollen where it pressed against her throat.

She wanted to show him she wasn’t out of moves. Not yet.

Without a second thought, she leaned forward and kissed him. Again. And this time, she kissed him like she meant it. She kept her eyes open, daring him to do something as she poured her hatred, her rage, her fear back into him, biting him as he had bit her. He seemed to like the taste because he was kissing her back, with a sudden ferocity that frightened her. His teeth pinched hard at her bottom lip and she gasped at the pain, opening her mouth for a breath, and he took the chance to push his tongue inside.

Kissing the Joker, she realized, r _eally kissing him_ , was a lot like fighting him. So she fought back, gripping the front of his shirt as she shoved herself off the sink and into his space. This close, she could feel him, already half-hard against her leg. When she reached down to touch him, he hissed as though in pain, and the sound made her smile.

In the back of her mind, she decided she liked this, liked _him_ like this. Sex was simple, easy to understand. It made sense, would always make sense. Even when you were fucking a maniac.

She hadn’t decided yet on how far she wanted to go with this, but she could feel his hands on her body, snaking under her shirt, fidgeting with the button of her pants. _Urgent_. His movements were quick, efficient, the same way he’d cleaned her gun. His impatience was obvious, pulsing against her thigh, so she helped him along, pulling away from him to undo her jeans and push them the rest of the way down.

She turned back around, bracing herself against the sink with one hand, the other reaching back to guide his cock to the center of her. He slid home in one stroke and they groaned together as he bottomed out, a furious, angry sound. She stilled for a moment to catch her breath and she felt his hands sliding beneath her shirt, stopping to rest in the soft hollow between her ribs and she was frightened suddenly, absurdly, that he might try and rip her apart.

But then he was fucking her, hard, and she couldn’t remember to be afraid. She focused instead on keeping quiet, her whimpering trapped between her teeth. She kept her eyes closed, the last bit of defense she had against him. He didn’t like that, slowed down enough to tell her so.

“No, Joanie, l _ook at me_ ,” he snarled, pulling away slightly so he could slide a hand down to where they were joined, “If we’re going to play this game, you’re gonna _look at me_.”

Her eyes flew open and she nearly screamed as he pinched her clit, forcing her to bear down as if to push him out. He started up again, fixing his mouth to her shoulder and biting down to pin her in place when she tried to struggle away from the pain. She swung her arm out wildly and her hand connected with the back of his head, immediately digging her fingers into the wound she had just helped clean and making sure to pull his hair with all the force she could muster.

It only seemed to encourage him. She stared back at him in the mirror the way he wanted and he seemed to preen, the edges of his mouth bending up in satisfaction. He stopped pinching her then, opting instead to rub quick, hard circles over the already sensitive bundle of nerves, fucking her at an almost brutal pace. She could admit it felt fiercely good, like pressing on a fresh bruise or itching at a suture. The way he was touching her, she knew he wanted her to finish first, but not out of charity or some misplaced sense of chivalry; he wanted to force it out of her, rub her face in it.

And it worked. She was coming before she had a chance to resist it, swallowing her scream as she felt every muscle in her body seize up and start to tremble. He fucked her through it until his own pace began to stutter.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she slurred, still shaking, watching him in the mirror as he chased his own release. He laughed at that, a harsh huff of air against her ear, but he nodded, pushing in once, twice more, before he pulled out with a strangled sound and she felt warmth on the back of her legs. She was too tired to be upset.

The Joker peeled himself off her, falling back against the opposite wall. He was breathing hard as he started to put himself away, the reflection of his face unreadable, blank, flushed. The shock was still there though, just like before, receding like a dark wave.

When she was sure her knees wouldn’t give out, she shimmied her jeans back up onto her hips, grimacing at the drying spend on the back of her legs. Her shoulder was throbbing where he had bit her and she made a mental note to check for blood. But later. Everything could wait until then.

She turned herself around. Without the barrier of the mirror, she could read him better. Found he looked smug, almost a little _impressed_. With her or with himself she couldn't tell. She wanted to hit him, but she didn’t think it would help. She didn’t know what came next. Hadn’t thought that far ahead.

_No plan._

He hovered toward her for a moment and she worried he might try and kiss her again. But she moved away from him before he could try. Held her breath as she slid past him, as though she were a child walking past a cemetery. The gun was waiting for her on the table, clean as a whistle and happily loaded. It was a comforting weight in her hands as she carried it back to bed with her.

The Joker lingered in the bathroom. Drying off maybe, ringing the last bit of bloody water from his hair. She listened to his movements from where she lay in her bunk, her back to the room. When he finally emerged, she watched his shadow climb across the ceiling. Tried hard not to start when she felt him suddenly behind her, curling around her body the same way she was curled around her hard-won prize. Whether he was just trying to scare her or actually get some sleep, she didn’t know. She pretended to be asleep until she was.

**Author's Note:**

> my first time writing an actual sex scene lol i basically wrote and rewrote this scene 400 times before ultimately deciding to leave it out completely because i didn't believe it fit with the story i was trying to tell. i've been at odds about whether or not Joan/the Joker would fuck since I started this story 7 years ago. 
> 
> but what better way to welcome the new year than with some angry smut that lives in my drafts (and my brain) rent free?


End file.
